The Naked Truth
by oldmule
Summary: A revelation for Ruth helps her see Harry in a new light.
1. Chapter 1

**Short opening to longer story. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday Morning<strong>_

She is restless.

The rain beats against the window and Fidget weaves between her feet. She doesn't notice the heat from the mug slowly disappearing as she carefully cradles it in her hands.

She can't settle to anything this morning. Not a book, not the ironing, not the hundred and one things she needs to do.

And so she stares out of the window at the rain but she doesn't see the torrent streaming from the gutter, nor next door's cat sheltering beneath the awning by the bins.

All she sees is Harry holding a naked Beth.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Three Days Before**_

"Ruth, where's Beth?"

"Gone to meet an asset. Can I help?"

"No, it's fine."

She follows him, she doesn't know why, there's just something in his tone.

As he sits at his desk he is not surprised that she stands opposite with that look, the one that half invites, half challenges him to tell her what he has failed to do so already.

"She's been following a Georgian group.."

"Juba?"

He nods.

"And I'm concerned she's getting too close."

"What do you mean?"

"Barashvili, their leader….he's highly persuasive, charming and ruthless."

"A man after your own heart," her eyes twinkle with mischief.

"Charming?" he smiles his most charming smile.

"Occasionally," she accedes.

"Ruthless?"

"When necessary."

"But not persuasive enough, hey, Ruth?" and there is sadness in his voice even though the smile is still caught on his face.

She does not answer, her eyes slip away.

And for a moment they both hear his question and they both hear her refusal. And they both regret.

"Well, as charming as he may seem he's capable of many things and I just have this feeling that Beth is immersing herself too much, getting too close to him."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"Yes, she says it's all fine, that he trusts her, that there's no reason for me to worry."

"But you are."

"Yes."

"You never had these worries with Ros?'"

"Ros would have eaten him for breakfast."

"She's a big girl Harry, I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

He nods and his eyes linger on her.

She turns and is gone.

_**Sunday Morning**_

The tea is cold and untouched in her hand. The rain has slowed to a gentle, rhythmic shower. The cat decides the time right to return across the fence.

Ruth sees none of it. She sees Harry stroking Beth's face, sees her small frame nestled under his arm, sees the gentleness in his touch.

And it won't leave her alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_**One Day Before**_

The door splinters.

CO19 burst forth, guns raised, room secured, Dimitri with them.

Harry strides in.

Ruth can see the shock on Dimitri's face but not the reason why. She follows Harry, sees the nod that tells Dimitri to get Barashvili and his men out of there. Sees the expression on his face as the Georgian passes him, sees the open revulsion and hatred as Harry holds himself back.

And then she sees Beth.

Her face bruised, her hands, her feet tied to the bed, her naked body tinged with blue in the cold damp of the room.

She watches as Harry crosses to her, drops to one knee beside her, his coat immediately divested as he lays it gently over her.

She sees the soft smile as he tenderly strokes the hair from Beth's cheek, she sees him lean and whisper into her ear, sees some of the fear leave her face. And though every part of Ruth instinctively wants to go to Beth's side she stands transfixed by the care and tenderness that she is witnessing.

She watches as he takes a knife and cuts the ties that bind her. She watches as he gently lifts her bloodless, numb arms back to her sides and delicately rubs the life back into her fingers. And whispering still, as he lifts her and pulls his coat around her shoulders.

And as he helps her from the bed, her small frame tucked under his arm, her head resting on the broadness of his chest, his attention finally seeks Ruth and at last she moves forward and takes Beth in her arms and moves her from the room to the waiting medics.

_**Sunday Morning**_

All these images will not leave her.

All the times he has tried to make her see the man he is.

All the things he has done.

All the things she has seen.

And it comes down to this.

_**Sunday Afternoon**_

The telephone rings.

"Hello."

"Ruth, it's me."

"Harry."

"I just wondered how Beth was?"

"She's gone home to her mum's."

"And…how was she?"

"She said she was fine. She's not."

They both cradle the phones and listen to the other breathing.

"Was she…did..did they…?"

"No, Harry, what they did was appalling but they hadn't raped her."

There is a long silence on the line.

"If we hadn't got there when we did though…."

She leaves the thought hanging.

"Are you okay, Ruth?"

"Me? Fine. Why?"

"Just asking."

"Right."

Again the silence stretches out.

"Well, have a good day, Ruth. See you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow..."

She imagines him lowering the receiver and the click that means the end of his voice.

"Harry?"

The phone is still at his ear, it has not moved.

"Yes?"

"Have you eaten, yet?"

"I was about to go out and get something. Empty fridge."

"Not for the first time," he can hear the slight smile in her voice.

"No, nor the last, I'm sure."

He waits, hoping she is going somewhere with this. She doesn't.

"So…" he says.

"So…" she responds.

"Well, bye then, Ruth.'

"Harry, would you like to go out for lunch somewhere?'

He holds himself back from screaming 'yes' down the phone.

"Only if you promise me yorkshire pudding?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

"And a good bottle of red."

"That too."

"And something with custard."

She laughs.

He smiles just to hear the laugh.

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

"Okay, bye Harry."

"Bye, Ruth."

But neither put the phone down.

"Bye, Ruth," comes the soft voice from down the phone.

Realising she hurriedly hangs up.


	4. Chapter 4

She sits across the table from him and when he smiles she imagines his head on the pillow beside her.

He refills her glass and she imagines him doing so at home, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders.

He laughs at something the waiter has said and she imagines the sound next to her ear, his breath hot and close.

And she screams at herself that all this is from Beth's misfortune, all this is from the horror of their job, all this has come from something horrendous and ugly.

And yet when she looks at him she can't help but see something new.

"Are you okay, Ruth?"

'Fine."

"You sure? You seem a little distracted."

"No."

"Are you worrying about Beth?"

"I'm not sure she's going to come back, Harry."

He nods slowly, it has occurred to him too.

"It's not easy, is it?...what we do." she says.

"No."

He worries that she is regretting being here with him. She seems absent, her thoughts elsewhere.

He should have said no, kept her at arms length, not put them through this again. He knows he can't keep doing it to himself and yet she calls and he comes and he knows it will always be like this.

"Harry?"

"Yes," he says laying down his knife and fork.

But she doesn't know what she wants to say.

He waits. There is a frown on her face. He is sure he knows what she is thinking.

'You shouldn't have come," he says sadly.

The frown slips and she looks away.

He was right.

She wonders at her thoughtlessness, at how difficult this might be for him, that he wishes that she had not come.

"It's okay Ruth I understand."

He doesn't. He never understands.

"You understand what?'

"Why you wish you hadn't come here with me."

"I don't."

"Don't what?'

"Don't' wish I hadn't come."

"Oh."

He pauses confused.

"I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

He sighs.

"Sorry, we're not doing very well are we?" she says smiling at him.

"Do we ever, Ruth?"

Her smile slips a little but she is determined that the moment not be lost.

"Harry, I'm having a lovely lunch, in a lovely pub..."

"With a lovely companion?" he dares.

"Don't push your luck."

She grins at him and he loves her, body and soul.

"You promised me custard," he says rather than telling her how wonderful she makes him feel, how wonderful and bereft in alternate moments.

"Then custard you shall have, though I have no idea where you're putting it all."

"I'm a growing lad," he says cheekily.

"You're a long way shy of a lad and you're growing in all the wrong directions."

"Ruth! You could severely hurt a man's feelings."

Her face clouds.

"I've done that once already, Harry"

He looks at her.

"I don't want to do it again."

* * *

><p><strong>More to come soon.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sunday Evening**_

"Would you like to come in for a drink?"

He hesitates. He wants to know what's changed. He wants to ask her what's happening, what's different?

"You don't have to, Harry."

"No, I'd like to."

"Are you sure."

"Yes, Ruth, I'm sure...Are you?"

As soon as he asks the question he kicks himself. But he knows why he said it. Self defence.

She looks at him, surprised and then she unlocks the door.

She begins to pour him a glass of whisky but is distracted as he takes his jacket off. It reminds her of the gentle way he covered Beth, the tenderness with which he stroked her cheek, the way he whispered in her ear and held her hands.

But it is not Beth that Ruth is seeing.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Ruth?"

She realises his glass is more than half full and she's still pouring.

"Or are you planning on taking advantage of me?"

He says it to lighten the mood but the look on her face is a picture.

She stands wondering what to do with the excess of whisky, until he steps close, his hand reaching out to hers, relieving her of the glass.

"I'll take it slowly and make it last," he says softly.

He is talking about the drink.

She is thinking about anything but the drink.

"Are you okay, Ruth?"

She nods, grabbing the glass and taking a slug. Her face contorts at the bitterness of the liquid and she hands it back.

He smiles, "Good idea, we'll share it."

He walks to the window, savouring the burn against his throat.

She sits down and watches him. Watches the way he tilts his head as he studies the garden, watches the straightness of his back, the rise of his chest.

Still he wants to ask her why, when she has held him at arms length for the past few months, since his ill judged proposal, why this, why now?

And is 'this' what he hopes 'this' might be?

"Ruth….I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"What's happening."

"We've had lunch, we're having a drink, what is there to understand."

"Right," he nods.

She can't tell him that everything's changed, that suddenly she doesn't see the consequences of decisions he's made, she doesn't see the past and its complications.

She can't tell him that she sees him as just a man: a gentle, caring, physical…man.

She can't tell him that she craves the tenderness of his touch, that she craves the warmth of his body.

"The garden looks lovely," he says.

"None of it thanks to me."

"Nature not nurture, hey, Ruth?'

"Most definitely nature."

His eyes are concentrated outside.

Maybe she just wants things to be normal, sociable, no longer tense or terse between them. Maybe she wants no more than that.

"What is it?" she asks as she sees the sadness cloud his face.

"Nothing."

"Harry?"

"It's nothing, Ruth. I think I better go."

"Why?"

"Because me, here, drinking whisky with you is not a good idea."

She looks wounded.

"Please stay. At least finish your drink."

He sighs and lifts the glass to his lips. And she envies it.

She walks to the window and leans against the frame opposite him.

"It's started raining again," he says.

"Good job you stayed, you'd have got wet."

He offers her the glass, she takes it and again her face contorts at the flavour.

"You don't like it," he laughs gently, "so why do you drink it?"

"Dutch courage," she says gazing out of the window, her hand passing it back.

His fingers stroke across the back of her hand as he retakes the glass. She shivers.

"Cold?"

She shakes her head gaze still averted, face serious.

He sighs.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking, Ruth?"

"What, no truth serum on hand?"

"No, it's in the car," he smiles.

They both stare out of the window. Seemingly fascinated by a garden they are both barely seeing.

"I was thinking…" she says, "…how I would feel if you kissed me."

Harry briefly concedes that he must pay more attention to his blood pressure as his heartbeat begins to reverberate around his chest and resound in his ears.

"And have you reached any conclusions?" he asks calmly.

"Some."

"Want to share them with the rest of us. I believe there are some interested parties in the room."

"Well, it was more that I was trying to imagine how I'd feel."

"You don't need to imagine, you could just… remember."

"But Harry, that was a kiss with no consequences."

"And the next one wouldn't be?"

"No, the next one would be inescapable."

"Would you want to escape it, Ruth?"

"Depends how good it is?" she says coyly.

"It'll be good, trust me."

"You're very confident."

"If you kiss me, then you'll see why."

She can't stop herself from smiling now. And suddenly it seems easier.

"You're promising a lot, Harry."

"And if I promise, I usually deliver. Try me."

"Try you?"

"Yes, Ruth, try me on for size."

She laughs.

"Are you laughing at me?" he says as he steps across the space between them. He doesn't touch her but he stands so close, so close she can feel him.

"I wouldn't dare. You might sack me."

"Possibly."

"Then this is sexual harassment, Harry."

"I believe you are the one that started this, Ruth, so I would argue that I'm the one with a case to bring."

"Well, if you don't kiss me soon then I'll be suing you for breach of promise."

"Breach of promise?'

"Yes, that 'it'll be good'!" She raises her eyebrows.

"And it will," he smiles.

"I'm beginning to think you're all talk, Harry."

"Oh am I?" he says and with an imperceptibly swift movement one hand is around her neck, the other wound around her waist and his lips are firmly, warmly, beautifully planted upon hers.

And she suddenly wonders why there is no air in the house, why it is so hot and what has happened to her legs.

* * *

><p><strong>One more to come, I think, if there's any one out there still reading?<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

_**Late Sunday Evening**_

"Well?" His eyes are alight with mischief. His arms, his hands don't move from her body. His lips linger over hers.

"Well what?" she asks calmly.

"How do you feel?"

"Peckish. I think I should have had a pudding."

"Ruth!"

"What?'

"Is that it?"

"Oh, sorry you meant the kiss?'

"Yes, Ruth, yes. The kiss."

"Oh right."

"You are actually in danger of the sack now."

"The kiss was…"

He waits eyebrows raised.

"Was…?"

"I'm not sure," she says, "try it again."

_**Monday Morning, 5.10am**_

A stray piece of hair trails across her cheek. A finger strokes it away with the lightest, the most tender of touches.

Lips brush against her ear as warm words are whispered, promises made.

Nails lightly run across the back of her hand as fingers explore, intertwine and move on across her stomach and over her ribs.

Gently he lifts the sheet to cover her and keep her warm.

* * *

><p><strong>The choice is - is that the end? Or couldshould there be more? On this one it's up to you, I'm undecided.**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Monday Morning 7.45am**_

Ruth lays smiling. She knows he is watching her. He's making no secret of it, propped on his elbow, eyes savouring every inch of her, wondering how his world had come so alive.

"Well," she says with a sigh, "I've tried you on for size."

"And?" he replies smugly.

"I'd suggest less things with custard."

He throws himself onto his back.

"I'd hoped for a little more than insults, Ruth."

She rolls onto her side to face him.

"Are you looking for compliments, Harry?"

"Might be," he says through pouting lips.

"You want me to tell you how it was worth waiting, what, six years for?"

"It'd be better than comments about custard, Ruth, yes."

"I'm sorry, I can't."

His eyes turn to her and the pout disappears.

"You can't?"

"No."

And as his eyes are lost to the ceiling she cannot bear to torment him anymore, she cannot bear to see the pain she has inflicted. Her hand runs across his chest.

"I'm a fool, Harry, I shouldn't have waited five minutes, let alone six years. If I'd known then what I know now, you could have had me anytime you wanted."

And the pout is back as his returning pride inflates it.

"Anytime?"

"Yes, anytime."

And suddenly she is on her back and he is above her, smiling, sparkling, full of devilment and mischief.

"But not now, Harry," she says patiently.

"Especially now," he growls.

"But we should have been at work fifteen minutes ago."

He looks at the clock and back at her.

"In that case, Ruth... you're sacked."

"But…"

"You're right, there should be a disciplinary panel first."

And he pins her hands beneath him and smiles.

"Now where shall I begin?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Monday Morning 10.15am**_

"Ruth?'

"Yes."

"If you don't stop doing that I'm going to have to pull over and then we really will be very late."

"Where's your famous self restraint gone?"

"It disappeared sometime around 11.30 last night, when you decided to…."

"Oh," she interrupts.

"Yes. Oh."

She sits back in the seat innocently and watches the traffic with considerable attention.

"Ruth."

"Yes, Harry."

"I am presuming you don't want anyone to know about this?"

"This?"

"Us…I presume you don't want them to know about us."

She smiles.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not used to 'us'."

"Well, you'll have to get used to it because I'm not going anywhere."

"That's…good," she says, still refusing to look at him, "though I don't know why you would presume that."

"Well, because of last time…Malcolm…the way you reacted."

"That was a long time ago, Harry. I was young…naive."

His hand wanders from the steering wheel and takes hers, lovingly.

"I never said you were naïve."

She turns to look at him, her eyes bright and wide, her mouth edging into a radiant smile.

"Well, let's just say I'm less so now. And I don't need to hide anymore, Harry, not from them and not from you."

He smiles that smile, the one that changes his whole face and she is more certain than she has ever been.

"But I'll let you go in first, shall I, so it's not obvious."

"No. We go in together."


	9. Chapter 9

**This was meant to be a short final chapter but it isn't that short and it's not the last!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Monday Morning, 10.27am<strong>_

They step into the pods. The same pod. Their shoulders are touching but nothing more. They face the grid waiting for the door to open.

"Marry me, Harry."

The door swishes open.

Dimitri and Tariq glance up to see Ruth step out.

"Bit of a lie in, Evershed?" chides Dimitri.

Harry steps out behind her.

"What did you say?" asks Harry urgently.

"Oh, sorry, Harry didn't realise you'd …had a meeting." Dimitri tries to dig himself out of the hole he has begun. God he hopes Harry doesn't think he's implying anything. As if!

"You heard me," she says.

"I'm not sure I did, Ruth."

Tariq and Dimitri glance at each other, curious frowns on their faces.

"Well, if it's so shocking, Harry, then think about it and tell me tonight."

She walks towards her desk with a breezy smile.

"Morning," she says, her hand trailing across Tariq's shoulder.

Harry stays standing by the pod doors.

Dimitri silently mouths 'tonight'? at Tariq. He shrugs. Then they both look at Harry who is still unmoved.

"Harry are you okay?" Dimitri asks.

He says nothing but turns to his office.

Ruth, earphones plugged in, begins to plough through a raft of transcripts that have been patiently waiting for her.

"Is it me, or is something weirder that usual going on between them?" whispers Dimitri leaning across Tariq's desk.

"It's definitely not you."

_**Monday Morning, 11.14am**_

"RUTH!"

Harry stands at his office door.

Dimitri laughs at Tariq who has just jumped a mile, nearly spilling his coffee, after the sudden shout from across the grid.

"Is it about work, Harry?" Ruth calls, sitting at her desk.

The two junior members of the team glance at each other, eyebrows raised, aghast at her unusual temerity.

Harry hesitates.

"Yes."

"Really?" she questions.

"No," he admits.

"Then I'm busy."

She smiles to herself and reattaches her earphones.

Harry turns back to the office.

_**Monday Morning, 11.18am**_

Harry strides out across the grid.

Dimitri's head turns to follow him.

Tariq's head turns to follow him.

Ruth's head is buried in her computer.

"Ruth?'"

A hand reaches out and unplugs her ear from the Mandarin translation she is in the middle of.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he replies softly, suddenly caught be the brightness of her eyes.

"Ruth, what you said before...?"

"That you should eat less custard?"

"No," he snaps a little too loudly, "not the bloody custard."

She smiles.

Tariq looks at Dimitri and mouths 'custard'?

"Before, Ruth, in the pods," he whispers.

She gazes at him, purposefully blankly.

"The question you asked me…"

"Oh, yes," she suddenly seems to remember.

"Did you mean it?"

"Do you think I would ask if I didn't?"

"I don't know, Ruth. I don't know anything anymore. I've signed the same bloody report three times this morning."

She looks at him.

'Well, perhaps, Harry, it's a harder question to answer than you may have thought."

"But I…"

He doesn't get a chance to say anymore because once more the pods are in use and this time they herald the arrival of the HS.

"Harry!" he calls and waits expectantly.

Ruth's eyebrows rise and Harry turns away with a heavy sigh.

_**Monday Afternoon 12.22pm**_

"Make sure it does," warns the HS finally as he prepares to go.

"Home Secretary…"

Towers turns back.

"I may need to hand over the fallout of the operation to a colleague."

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

"It's just….well…I…"

"Spit it out, man."

"I may need some time off."

"Never saw you as the week in Benidorm type, Harry."

"No, indeed no. It's just that I may be getting married."

Towers looks at him, his eyes wide and then he glances across the grid towards Ruth.

"_May_ be, Harry?"

"I haven't said yes, yet."

"_You_ haven't said yes?" His surprise is growing.

"I did ask but she said no, but now _she's_ asked…"

"But you haven't said yes?"

"No."

"Harry, I don't begin to understand what is going on with the two of you, but for god's sake get on with it and then get back to work with your mind in the right place and not in your trousers."

He turns away to the pods.

"Home Secretary," mutters Harry standing in his wake.

_**Monday Afternoon 12,24pm**_

"RUTH!"

She looks at him from across the grid.

"My office, now."

She opens her mouth.

'And yes, it is about work!"


	10. Chapter 10

"What did the Home Secretary want?"

"Nothing."

"He just popped over for a chat, did he?"

"Ruth, you asked me to marry you."

"I believe I did. Yes."

"But I'm meant to ask you."

"And you did, Harry."

"You said no."

"That was then."

"But _you_ can't ask _me_."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the man."

Ruth laughs.

'No, Harry you're the dinosaur."

'What?"

"It's the twenty first century and if I choose to ask you, I can."

"But…."

"No buts. At least I had the good manners to answer you."

"With a no!"

"Yes, I said no but that was before I discovered your hidden genius."

"Hidden genius?"

"In the kissing department."

"Oh," he says unable to resist the compliment to his ego.

"And because of it," she steps closer, her hand reaching for his lapel, "I've changed my mind. Woman's prerogative."

'But, Ruth, I need to ask you."

"Again?"

"Yes, again."

"Fine, go on then."

"Not like this, Ruth. Where's your sense of romance?"

"Romance, Harry? A funeral! Where was yours?"

"Please Ruth, let me do it my way."

She sighs and her hand reaches up to stroke his cheek softly.

"Okay, Harry, but it needs to be better than the last time."

"Dimitri! Did you see that?"

"What?"

"I'm sure Ruth just touched Harry's cheek!"

"Oh, give over, I don't think they know the meaning of physical contact."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Monday Morning, 12.45pm**_

"Marry me, Ruth?"

"'It needs to be better than the last time_'_. Did I say that? Or did I just imagine it?"

"You said it. Yes"

"Right. "

She looks away from him, out across the familiar skyline, across the rooftops around Thames House.

"Well at least there aren't any gravestones this time," she adds.

"I thought about taking you away. To a recital, the opera, even taking you to Paris and asking you there."

"But all you managed, Harry, was the roof."

"I've thought of every romantic, cliched gesture from flowers, to rings in champagne, to grand public gestures."

"And in the 15 minutes since we discussed this in your office you've, what, rejected them all?"

"They'd all take too long, Ruth. I can't wait."

He looks at her hopefully, impatiently, eagerly and she doesn't care where, when or how he asks her. She only cares that he loves her.

"Why?"

"Why can't I wait or why do I want to marry you?"

"Both."

He pauses.

"Same reason, really," he says simply.

"Which is?"

"I love you."

She gazes at him.

There it is. Said. Finally.

"I've been a bad husband, a bad father. I've hurt people, killed people and made decisions that have ruined others. I probably don't deserve a minute of the happiness you've already given me but I don't care. I want you and most of all I want to be a good husband. The best husband...marry me Ruth. Now. Today."

She stands looking at him.

The wind picks up and blows her hair but she does not feel it. A police siren roars past below but she does not hear it.

"Please say something," he whispers.

She takes a deep breath.

"You said today!"

"Yes, I've booked something. I think you'll like it."

"In fifteen minutes you've run through every way you could propose, ignored them all and booked a wedding?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"St Martins. In half an hour."

"Harry, wait this is all going too fast."

"No. No, it's not."

She shakes her head and he grabs her hands in his.

"If you want it done properly, in time, Ruth, with the guests and the band and the ceremony, then fine, if that makes you happy, then I'm happy."

She opens her mouth to speak but he is not to be stopped.

"But if you know what you want. If I'm what you want then it's not too soon, it's late, so very late and I don't want to lose another second with you."

"And if I were to say yes, yes to right now, where do you think you're going to rustle up a priest with half an hour's notice?"

"A bishop actually."

"What?"

"You remember that incident with the Minister's wife?"

"Harry, you're blackmailing the bishop!"

"Needs must, Ruth," he smiles a small smile.

"I don't think I should ask anymore," she mutters looking out at the skyline once more.

"So don't ask. Just say yes. If you love me, say yes."

"I love you, Harry."

And the smile spreads across his face.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

And then it becomes contagious and spreads to hers. And she slowly nods.

"A 'yes' to now?"

"Yes, Harry, to right now, before the bishop changes his mind."

And now the smile is in the way, refusing to leave their lips, getting in the way of the kiss between them as they begin to laugh.

"We better go," she says.

They both turn away from the skyline towards the door.

"I'll be the best husband Ruth, really."

"Let's not run away with yourself, just aim for good, Harry."

"No, tell me what I need to do for 'best'?"

She smiles at him as they walk, her hand rubbing his back, his arm around her waist.

"Well, you'd have to be considerate."

"I can do that," he says.

"Loving..."

"I can do that."

"Passionate..."

He grins.

"Yes, Harry, you can do that."

He grins more.

"_And_ romantic…"

He stops grinning.

"Okay, I know I haven't exactly covered myself with glory on that front, Ruth but I will try, I promise."

"Starting with no chocolates, even Belgian ones, for anniversaries or birthdays."

He looks confused.

"Really?"

"Yes, Harry, really."

"Okay. Anything else, Ruth?"

She thinks for a moment.

"Tell you what. How about the rest we just make up as we go along."


	12. Epilogue

**This I believe is the end. Thank you for your lovely reviews.**

* * *

><p>"Both of you meet me at the car, now!" Harry barks down the phone.<p>

Dimitri and Tariq are in the pods within seconds.

"Where are we going?" asks Dimitri, checking his gun clip, as the Range Rover screeches away from Thames House.

"Church," says Ruth.

"Hostages?" asks Tariq.

"Or bomb?" demands Dimitri.

"Wedding," answers Harry.

"Ours," adds Ruth.

* * *

><p>"Afternoon Bishop, thank you for doing this."<p>

"I'm not sure you gave me a great deal of choice, Sir Harry."

"There are always choices."

"Mmm," says the bishop, not quite so certain, "and it appears you have made yours," he turns to Ruth.

"Shall we….?"

"Let's," she smiles.

"Are these your witnesses?" the bishop glances at a dumbfounded Dimitri and Tariq.

"Yes," says Harry.

"Are they alright?" he whispers.

"They're just getting over a small shock. They'll be fine."

* * *

><p>"By the power invested in me I now pronounce you man and wife. You may…."<p>

The bishop never bothers finishing the sentence, the bride is already being kissed.

And kissed well.


End file.
